


it's courage that counts

by restlessvirtue



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, accidental proposals ensue, set after the thorns v red stars semi, tobin in her feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-04 01:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21189437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restlessvirtue/pseuds/restlessvirtue
Summary: After the disappointment of the Thorns' season-ending loss, Tobin realizes the only thing she wants is to get back to Christen. When she really thinks about it, that's all she ever wants – win or lose.





	it's courage that counts

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so, this one kind of just came out of last week's game and... I've had a tough week myself so it was nice to just bury my head in this for a while. For that reason, it may be extra soft and sentimental. But I hope you like it anyway. FYI, it's set the morning after that game but obviously I have no clue what they actually got up to, so I was just rolling with this idea from Sunday onward.

She can feel the loss in every inch of her body. The aches that she’s been carrying for weeks now seem to be doubling down, muscles throbbing and limbs hanging heavy. Her body droops as she drags her feet through the airport, the post-match ice bath now feeling futile, her Thorns-red backpack hanging haphazardly off one shoulder as she makes her way through security before dumping herself down in a free seat inside the gate. 

It’s still quiet around her, with none of the pre-game hype that had warmed the atmosphere on the way to Chicago, the flight to LA earlier than her teammates’ one back to Portland. She’s not going back right away, she’s going home; she’s going wherever Christen is. 

_ Christen_. 

That’s a thought that feels better, a thought that parts the clouds in her foggy mind to allow for a little hint of sunlight. The promise of seeing her girlfriend again is really all that’s holding her together as she sits alone waiting to board her flight, thinking far too many thoughts. She’s fending off the playback in her head of every fumbled pass, every wrong move. There’s the insistent memory of a few moments of flow and flash, nullified by the opposition before Portland could take their chances to convert. A few weeks ago, they’d have got it done: Raso on a run, Sonnett on a set piece, the back of Lindsey’s head, Sinc with a tap-in, a curled free kick just outside the 18. It had been a single game with the potential to turn their luck around. Now they’re stuck in the offseason, the fresh run of losses and draws hanging over their heads for the duration. 

She’d been looking forward to the break for weeks. Time with family, time with friends, time with Christen. They had plans, holidays, weddings and a whole lot of nothing on the schedule. Now it feels different, tarnished somehow by the way the season ended and the mood of the team. 

Two strangers shuffle over to the seats opposite Tobin’s, settling down with their bags. They look as tired as Tobin feels, but they wear it differently. It’s a happy tired, a cosy tired, a settled tired. They radiate contentment, curling around each other instinctively as they make themselves comfortable. When the woman leans her head onto the man’s shoulder, he responds by leaning his too, both of them closing their eyes and taking no notice of Tobin’s gaze upon them. 

She reaches into the pocket of her hoodie for her phone. 

She’s not a phone person, never has been. She can go hours without looking at it, has a thousand messages that will never be read. But it’s all she has for company now; it’s all she has of Christen. 

Christen, who’s left a gentle thread of messages that have gone unanswered. Christen, who knows her well enough to know why she hasn’t replied. Christen, whose name in her alerts is enough to make Tobin smile, even now. She’s there, too, on the hold screen background, beaming blissfully at her photographer on some long-ago summer’s day at the beach.

The texts vary from, “‘Success is never final, failure is never fatal; it’s courage that counts’” to, more directly, “I love you, baby. Travel safe. I’m counting down until you get here because I swear this week has been a year long. I can’t wait to see your big smile again and wrap my arms around you (though I think the dogs might call dibs). Will meet you at LAX. P.S. Let me know if you want me to pick up any groceries.” There’s a flood of blue bubbles to scroll through, no replies. The sight of it brings a wave of guilt to match the shame and disappointment that’s set in overnight.

Tobin finds it a strange feeling to love someone so deeply that it renders everything else incomplete without them. The love takes up space in every room of her life, whether she’s opened the door to it or not. It colours the grief that had carried the beginning of the year, the stress of qualifiers, the elation of a world championship, the exhaustion of grinding out the club season, the crushing disappointment of failure. 

It’s sitting in the final loss of the season that makes her see that, no matter what, she’s got Christen.

Somehow it’s _ this _ – this single, lonely moment of intense longing – that clears her head. She realizes that the one thing that connects her wins and her losses is needing Christen. It’s that same need not to be alone anymore, to be understood in conversation and in silence, to be loved through it all. Through success and failure. To feel more than football, in the end. 

Some big part of Tobin doesn’t want to call, just like she didn’t want to reply – or couldn’t. She wants all of Christen. She wants to be wrapped up in her arms, her soothing voice evenly recanting spiritual wisdom and vague platitudes. Christen always knows the right quote to share, as though having revised specifically for every moment in their lives; she’s always prepared, always composed. Even when Tobin herself can’t articulate what she needs, Christen anticipates it perfectly with a look or a gesture or a word. It’s effortless when they’re together; anything less than being together feels not enough. A breadcrumb to feed a craving.

Eventually, Tobin can’t _ not _ call. She can’t not say anything, putting the phone to her ear and barely waiting a full ring before Christen answers. “Tobin,” she hears, her girlfriend’s voice almost breathless. It’s immediate, like she’d been sat waiting for the call. That makes Tobin feel momentarily worse, but then Christen continues and, like always, manages to make her feel better again. “Hey,” she says softly, “I was… I was hoping I would hear from you before you got on the plane.” 

“I miss you,” Tobin replies, a little abruptly, her voice rough around the edges. It’s not fond, soft, flirty; it’s strained and sad, yearning permeating every syllable. On the edge of tears, she adds, “I just wanna be with you.”

“You will be soon, baby,” Chris says, steady and calm. “I think the dogs are ready to steal all of your attention from me. They’re expecting hugs. And probably treats, but the vet says we gotta watch those.”

Tobin closes her eyes, transporting herself to a place that’s just her and Christen in private. “And what about you? What are you expecting?”

“Whatever you can give me, Tobes. Whatever you wanna do.” Christen says it so breezily, the warmth of her voice painting a dreamlike picture of a perfect smile in Tobin’s mind. “We should take the girls out for walks on the beach while we’re here. And we could get the kites out again, maybe. I could pack up a picnic bag and we could just, umm… see where we end up, you know? You can drive and I’ll be in charge of music, and Khaleesi and Morena will be in charge of morale. Oh! And my dad wants us to have a big family barbecue soon, and I know he thinks he’s got it covered, but I think he could use a little assistance from his favorite sous chef, if she’s feeling up to it.”

“I think she can manage it,” Tobin supplies, biting her bottom lip to suppress a smile. 

“We can take it easy, if you want. I know it’s been hard and you’re tired and–” 

“We lost.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry,” she says, and maybe what hurts most of all is that all the time they spent apart earned them nothing at all in the end. 

“I should’ve left it all on the pitch. I shouldn’t be… like this.”

“Sometimes it’s not that easy. But it’s done, baby. Nothing more you can do. You’ll refresh, rebuild next year.” Christen says it like it’s simple. She makes it feel simple. 

“You’re right,” Tobin yields with a sigh. 

“I know,” Christen replies with a teasing lilt to her voice, and Tobin can just imagine the smile pulling at her lips as she says it. Not getting to see it for herself brings another pang of longing, even as she listens to Christen’s voice chiding her: “You know, you shouldn’t ignore my texts.”

“Chris. I’m sorry. I, uh… I didn’t want you to have to deal with me when I’m like this.”

“I start listening to sad playlists and drinking red wine alone. It’s not a good look.” 

“At 6am?” Tobin remarks, her tone full of mock outrage.

“No, last night! And don’t you judge me.” Christen’s quick to correct her, a big laugh following her words. _ That laugh_. “I briefly considered sending a picture of me in a Thorns jersey to see if I could get you to text me back. Too much Malbec.”

“I think maybe a clothes-off approach would’ve worked better,” Tobin teases back, a chuckle catching in her voice to match Christen’s laughter.

“Well, I was thinking a Thorns jersey and nothing else, Tobes.”

Tobin sinks down into the thinly-cushioned airport seat, attempting to stifle her reaction at least a little for the benefit of the few people around her. Lowering her voice, she replies, “You know you said we can do whatever I want? I hope we’re, uh, keeping that option on the table.” 

Christen clears her throat on the other end of the line. “Let’s not rule anything out.”

“Home or away kit?”

“What?”

“Will you be wearing the home or away kit? I’m just trying to, like, picture the scene.”

“_Tobin_,” Christen warns her, but there’s no bite to it and she follows with a notably thorough answer, clearly enjoying the easy rapport they fall into every bit as much as Tobin is: “Home kit, of course. If we’re gonna commit, let’s commit. Besides, I know you’re always happiest in the red and black. I think you secretly love being the big-time star of Providence Park, swaggering in in your sweats all casual, with all the fans outside screaming your name.”

She wants to reply, _ it’ll you be you screaming my name_, but there’s too little ambiguity to it and she’s still surrounded by a smattering of strangers whose ears would no doubt prick up. Instead she says, “That’ll be you soon,” and lets Christen pick up the inference.

“Is that the thought you want to carry with you onto this flight? Because it’s gonna be a long few hours for you,” Christen replies with a giggle, though she’s far more composed in her response than Tobin had hoped. 

“See, this is why I was trying to hold off until I could see you face-to-face.” 

“How are you still _ this _ bad at long-distance?”

“Because my girlfriend is like… the most… you know… you’re just… uh, _ you_.” Tobin laughs at herself, blushing just a little, her voice getting quieter as she fumbles for the right words. Somehow it still feels dizzying to think about all that Christen is: beautiful, smart, funny, caring, _ hers_. 

Despite Tobin’s inability to articulate all that, Christen seems touched nonetheless. There’s a warmth in her voice, a smile there, as she says, “I love you, even though you’re a grouchy, sore-loser girlfriend sometimes.”

Tobin shifts forward so that her elbows are resting on her knees, her hands rubbing her face. “I am. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just get home safe. I’ve got big plans for us.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. You heard me. Long walks on the beach, road trips, coffee shops. And we’re gonna go find some new patch of wilderness to hide away in, just me and you.”

“That sounds… that sounds good, Chris,” Tobin mumbles quietly, those golden promises washing over her like morning sunlight. It’s that feeling, perhaps, that leads her to suggest, “What if we, like, got everyone together and did a whole thing?”

“A whole thing?”

“Yeah, like, me and you, and, like, our families, some friends, some teammates.” 

“What are you talking about?” Christen asks, a nervous laugh behind it. 

“I just want to, like, celebrate you, and us and, uh…”

“Umm. Are you planning a wedding there, Tobes? What’s going on?”

A silence stretches out between them.

There’s amused outrage in Christen’s voice when the truth of the matter sinks in.“You think you can just plan a wedding without actually asking me to marry you? I thought you were meant to be a badass, huh.” 

“No, no, Chris–”

“You want a whole thing with our families and our teammates? But not a wedding? Just–”

Tobin cuts in: “Okay. So what if it _ was _ a wedding?”

“Tobin,” she says, and at least the warmth of the way she says her name still remains. “You don’t get a let-off just because you lost yesterday. You skipped a whole part there.” 

Tobin winces. “I fucked it.”

“No, you didn’t. Please don’t be upset,” Christen reassures her. “I just… I want to have that conversation when your head is clear and you’re not super bummed out about a game.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I was just, uh… I don’t know what I was thinking,” Tobin says quickly, clearing her throat more than once, and shooting up out of her seat to pace around the departure lounge. “Forget I, uh… Ignore that.”

“Tobin, no,” Christen says, sounding far stronger and clearer than Tobin’s feels. “It just caught me off-guard. We can talk about things when you’re here. You’re right, you know. It’s not the same as face-to-face.” 

“Yeah,” Tobin replies bitterly. Something about the way she says it brings the conversation to a grinding halt, the freeflow of earlier having stalled. 

They stay on the line in silence for a while. Tobin can just barely hear Christen’s breath, and then the gentle tap of dog paws on laminate flooring. “You okay, Tobes?”

“I just want to be there.”

“Soon.”

“Yeah. I’ll call you when I land, okay?”

“Well, I can meet you at the airport. I have the flight tracker so I can–”

Tobin cuts her off: “No, you know how LAX is. I’ll see you at the house.”

“Tobin, please don’t–”

“I gotta go, Chris. They’re, uh… boarding.” A lie. 

She cuts the line before Chris has chance to talk her round. She’s ended up over by the windows thanks to her aimless pacing, her reflection an unwelcome sight at this particular moment. She lets herself fall against it, her forehead pressed to the glass. _ Fuck_. _ Fuck, fuck, fuck _ is all she can think. 

Seconds later, she’s looking at her phone again, wondering what to do. She scrolls through the list of other messages she’s ignored: her mom, her siblings, Lindsey, her dad, Christen’s dad, Ashlyn, Kelley, a few of her Portland friends, Cheney, Kling. Eventually, she gets to a text from Pinoe from last night that just says, “Time to kick NCC and CRS out of the group chat? Joint pity party, except I get to complain for 30 extra mins.” 

Tobin smiles to herself, rolling her eyes a little at the specified allotment of extra time. There’s something easy about talking to Pinoe, the promise of levity, that appeals right now. It compels her to hit the call button, even while she’s resigned to not getting an answer. When she does, when a groggy Megan Rapinoe picks up, Tobin abruptly blurts out, “I think I just proposed to Chris.” 

Voice thick with sleep, Pinoe just says, “Tobin? What the fuck? What?”

“I think I just proposed to Chris,” Tobin repeats, whisper-yelling with her hand covering her mouth.

“You _ think?_ Well, gee, Tobe, that’s uh…” Pinoe clears her throat. 

“I think I fucked it up.” 

“To be honest, in my experience, most of the time when _ you _ fuck up, it’s just a reminder to the rest of us that you are, in fact, a mere mortal after all. It’s very comforting to know that you and Chris don’t have it all together,” she teases. 

Now questioning her choice of confidante, Tobin snaps, “Pinoe.”

“Sorry. So, what did she say? Are you engaged now? Do I need to go shopping for wedding outfits? I am not doing hats.”

“No.”

“No?” Suddenly, Pinoe’s tone changes completely, her surprise halting the flow of their back-and-forth. Something about how confused she sounds feels reassuring to Tobin, like she hadn’t been so crazy to think it could happen. “What? That doesn’t… Hang on, Christen said no?” 

“No, uh. Well, I don’t know. She refused to answer.”

“How badly did you do it? I am – and I cannot stress this enough – very confused.”

“It was bad. Fuck.”

“Tobin.” Pinoe’s voice softens, the teasing falling away. “Ask her again. Ask her the right way. She’s gonna yes. Of course she fucking will. Were you trying to trick-shot your way in? Because I’m thinking that if you just face into it and take the shot, it’s an open fucking goal. Swear to God.” 

“Maybe she only wants to marry someone who can win a playoff semi.” She’s flippant, searching for some way to joke around about it, some way to ease the lump that’s lodged in her throat. 

Pinoe plays along. “Tobin, she already had her chance with the Red Stars and she sure as fuck ain’t running off with the Courage. She’s only got eyes for you and, as your frequent third wheel, I should know. Face it already – she wants you.” 

Tobin just groans a little, inwardly. 

“Atta girl. Now that we’ve got that straightened out, please don’t call me before 10am again. I have had not one coffee and, if you remember, I too lost a semi yesterday.”

“Sorry, P. I heard about that.” 

“Yeah, rough one. 30 extra minutes in the last match at the end of a World Cup year? Absolutely the fuck not. My legs are running on empty. In fact, that’s a lie. They’re not running at all. I plan to lie here and do absolutely nothing once I’m done being your shrink.”

“Are you in the hotel still?”

“Yep. Room service breakfast: hola!” she replies, with a burst of fresh enthusiasm. 

“You’re very peppy for someone who lost in the playoffs yesterday.”

“We played hard. We held ‘em off into extra time. I’m proud of the team, ‘specially the kids. But, fuck, do I need a break. And we got a World Cup, Tobe. We came into this year with one thing on our minds and we did that,” Pinoe reasons. “Besides which, I didn’t just fuck up a proposal, so I’m bound to be in a better mood than you right about now.” 

“Okay, fuck off,” Tobin snaps back, chuckling to herself despite the sting of it.

“So where are you now?” Pinoe asks. 

“Just waiting to fly to LA. I think we’re gonna hang there for a bit, then maybe head back to Portland. I don’t know. I’m just… at the gate.” 

“Don’t get in your own head about this proposal thing, okay? I’ll marry you if she won’t. It’ll piss Sue off a little, sure, but I’m a good friend and I’m here for you,” Pinoe offers, her tone light even though Tobin feels the sentiment underneath it.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” Tobin says suddenly, like the words can’t help but come out. She tries to fend off the tears that are coming up from her chest, the strain in her voice evident, almost certainly, to her friend. Her nerves have her a little restless, spinning the ring on her middle finger of her free hand. 

“She feels the same way, Tobe. All kidding aside, she’s been head-over-heels as long as I can remember. And you’ll talk properly when you get home, not on a bad line from the airport. It’s gonna be fine. You’re the two happiest people on the planet when you’re together. Just get yourself home safe, my dear.” 

“Thanks P,” Tobin says, her voice a little more level. She looks up to see a little movement happening by the door of her gate, the call for priority boarding in the background. “Gotta go now.”

“Alright. Have a good flight, okay? No moping, got it?”

“No moping,” Tobin promises. 

*

Of course she mopes. She mopes the whole flight back west, listening to the most downbeat playlist she has on her phone and thinking tearfully about all the reasons Christen would hesitate. She’d thought for so long, even if just in the back of her mind, that they were headed for that life together. Something certain and stable, a commitment to match how their relationship had always, always felt. Since right at the beginning.

She takes her time heading to their place once she lands, in equal parts dreading it and desperate to be home. Pinoe had given her reason to hope, but her own voice of doubt is persistent. It doesn’t help that she’d already been feeling like the worst girlfriend, let alone an appealing candidate for fiancée. But she has to see Christen; she has to show up and face it all, if not just because, aside from all the questions buzzing in her mind, she just misses her. Misses her like crazy. And whenever there’s something wrong, the only person she wants to go to is Christen. 

As soon as she opens the door, Christen’s there on the other side waiting for her. She’s got her hair strewn over to one side, loose and curly and just how Tobin likes it best. That’s what she notices first, then her shy smile as her hands move to hold Tobin’s face.

“Chris,” Tobin goes to say, finding her throat too tight to give it any volume.

Christen doesn’t say anything. She just moves her lips to Tobin’s for a soft kiss, short and sweet, and then continues to kiss her face and her jaw and her neck, before moving in for a hug.

It’s a hug to sync souls, to make the rest of the world disappear. They just fall into each other, their faces buried in one another’s necks, hot breath hitting the exposed skin there and hearts beating against chests, reminding them they’re still alive, no matter how still they stay. Tobin feels the weight of herself offload as Christen holds her up, the embrace strong and firm, before she feels a featherlight kiss against the line of her shoulder. 

_I missed you_ and _I love you_ pass between them unspoken. What Tobin wants most to say now, she finds, is _will you_ _marry me_. It’s new and urgent and, _fuck_, it’s terrifying. 

When they come apart just a little, enough distance between them to look at each other, Christen moves her hands back to Tobin’s face. She holds Tobin in front of her, fingertips in her hair as her thumbs graze against her ears. It feels like she’s saying, _ this is where you belong_. Tobin wonders if that’s simply because it _ is_, because that’s what she feels in her gut when they stand together like this. _ This is it_. 

“Chris,” Tobin says, almost like it’s a question. With Christen’s full attention on her, her gaze reflecting like sunlight, something like courage swells in her gut. Her girlfriend’s green eyes are sparkling with promise as Tobin asks, almost in a whisper, “Marry me?”

The smile that stretches out across Christen’s face is like nothing else she’s ever seen. 

And then Christen nods, so enthusiastically that her hair starts falling in her face, her features scrunching together they way they do when she’s excited. Tobin lets out a laugh of immense relief as Christen giggles too, and then they’re kissing: messy and joyful and like it’s been far too long. (It’s been four days. _ Far too long_.)

They press their foreheads together once they’ve made out enough to tide them over. That’s when Tobin finds her voice again, quiet but certain: “Chris, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. And I… I don’t, like, know… how I got so lucky.” She swallows a wave of emotion, sweeping up Christen’s tears with the side of her hand. “When I’m on top of the world, I want you there with me. When everything goes to shit, I only want to be with you. When we’re chilling on the couch, I could stay there forever if it’s with you. I just want to keep hanging out with you forever, all the time. It’s crazy.” She finds herself laughing at the end of it, a giddy relief in knowing that she gets to have exactly what she wants for the rest of her life. 

Christen is stroking through Tobin’s hair, along one side of her face, and then, very softly, she tucks a lock of hair behind Tobin’s ear, her touch ghosting along the shell of it. Something about it makes Tobin smile to herself, the feeling going straight through her. Christen watches carefully, enjoying the reaction that it has and brightening too in reflection. There are tears still sitting on her cheeks as she says, “Tobes, that’s all I want.” She takes in a deep breath, blinking quickly to hold onto her composure. “Of course my answer’s yes, will always be yes, but it’s, umm… It’s a one-time thing, you know? I couldn’t miss your super duper big smile when I tell you I want to marry you. I didn’t want to do it over the phone. That’s not us. I wanted to be here with you, to start as we mean to go on.” 

Tobin can’t help but smile even more at that, so she embraces it, beaming at Christen and letting her joy permeate every part of her expression. Christen just laughs. “Yep. See. Totally worth it,” she tells her, caressing her cheek before leaning in again. 

In her excitement, Tobin deepens their kiss, sweeping Christen off her feet so that she has her legs wrapped around Tobin’s waist. 

“Your ankle–”

“S’fine,” Tobin insists between kisses. 

“You’ve gotta be careful, Tobes,” Christen argues, words warm and affectionate, and Tobin can’t help but do as she says. Christen lets barely a moment pass before her hand slips into Tobin’s, though, leading them in the direction Tobin was thinking. 

On their path to the bedroom, Tobin pauses abruptly. “Hey. I thought the dogs were here.”

“My dad’s got ‘em. I just wanted you all to myself.” 

Christen laughs at herself, at her transparency, but Tobin doesn’t find it funny at all. She pulls her girlfriend closer, holding Christen’s back flush against her front, her arms sweeping around her and squeezing tight. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

A deep breath escapes Tobin, and she knows Christen feels it too. There’s awe in her voice when she answers, “All of it. Giving me a beautiful life outside of the game. Making me love it even more, somehow. Loving me even when my head’s stuck in it. Being you.”

Christen’s crying when she turns around inside Tobin’s arms. Tobin pushes her hair back and then wipes away the tears sitting under her eyes.

“And for calling me out when I was… scared, so that we could have this moment here together.”

Sweetly, putting her arms around Tobin so that they cross behind her neck, Christen whispers, “I was thinking about it already, you know. Us, getting married.”

“What?”

“After everything this year, it just… it felt like that’s where we were, even before. It was like, of course, of course we should be married. You’re it for me, Tobes. Always were.”

“Always, huh?”

“Always, always, always,” Christen says, a little louder, her confidence blooming as she laughs and leans in. Their lips meet for a kiss that’s deeper than before; it’s not just lips, but tongues, hands, bodies. It has them stumbling together, breaking contact only to keep from crashing into things. Before they know it, they’re falling back into the bed and pulling at clothes too desperately to successfully get them off. 

There’s a moment when they still again, tiring of their own ineptitude for a moment. Christen has her head against the pillow; she’s looking up at Tobin who’s propped up on an elbow, almost parallel above her, and the look in her eyes is like she’s never seen anything better in her life. There’s so much love there, Tobin can’t help but blush and shrink under her gaze, instinctively pressing down to bury her face in Christen’s neck as she melts under the heat of it. She can hear Christen’s gentle laugh, feel Christen’s hand stroking gently through her hair, and see the rest of their lives ahead of them. 

And, just like that, Tobin realizes that she never had anything to be afraid of.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts.


End file.
